


Saving Musician-kind

by moshigami



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7803685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moshigami/pseuds/moshigami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MCR, thanks to the blessing of a shoe, are now tasked with saving the rest of musician-kind from the evil curse of Justin Bieber! This is a crackfic full of tropes and things. Tags and fandoms are added as they appear in the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving Musician-kind

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. Here we are. My first work on this website is a goddamn crackfic.  
> This came from a strange dream I had, so enjoy, I guess?

This story takes place in a universe where anything is possible, which is good because we’re all running out of helium and I have no idea how to invest in it.

Allow me to start.

There was a band called My Chemical Romance. They were a very normal band, except for the fact that they were totally emo. Very emo. So emo, in fact, they all won “Best Emos of the Year” 5000 years in a row. Yeah, they were that good.

Then one day, Bob the drummer was sick of being emo and went to Antarctica on a bus to study the art of being a penguin. Years later, he would be revered as the ultimate penguin mayor of Coldville with only penguin villagers. Right now, however, he was only starting out and there were too many frogs living there (one had to wonder why they didn’t freeze out in the cold), so that would just have to do for now.

We also don’t care about Bob, because he doesn’t help save the world like the remaining members of My Chemical Romance.

So it was about a year after Bob left. They went through a bunch of drummers, and they slowly started to feel as if they should just break up or something. Even though they didn’t care about him anymore, they all missed Bob very much.

Then, the fire nation attacked.

Well, it wasn’t really a nation. It was one person. And he wasn’t fiery either; he could be described better as… lame. Or cool, depending on how you saw him. 

But MCR thought he was lame, and so did the lazy higher power who sat there and did nothing. The only thing they had going for them was that they possessed both the Ladybug and Cat Miraculouses, (so they could create and destroy things) but they didn’t do anything with them. In fact, that higher power decided to drop them onto the earth and hope for the best. They stayed a higher power because that’s who they were. The higher power promptly went back to sleep, and doesn’t play an active role in this story.

“But wait,” you ask. “What’s with this guy attacking before you went on a tangent about the higher power?”

Well, uh, it might be easier to tell you who he was. His name was Justin Bieber, leader of the savage Belieber army and reckless pop singer.

He got his hands on one of those suspicious leather-bound tomes that horror movies have taught us never to touch, but since he was reckless and such, he didn’t care. He even flicked through the book and laid the evillest spell imaginable on all the musicians in the world:  
“I want to be the best musician in this world,” he mused, stroking his spontaneously-appearing goatee, “But everyone thinks I’m crap. So I’m gonna curse them to sing, because they love music so much!”

I guess you can tell what happens. Every musician in the world, from Lady Gaga to Amir all the way in France, from Billie Joe Armstrong to Dami Im in Australia, was cursed to sing every waking moment.

This was horrible for the Wiggles, because they couldn’t stop singing “The Wheels on the Bus”.

This was great for non-singers, but they also had no idea how horrible this was. That was thanks to the Beliebers, because somehow, in their obsession with Justin Bieber, they had become combat specialists, master hackers, liars, and salespeople. Because, you know, that works.

But basically, nobody except musicians had/ knew of this problem.

Wait, there’s an exception.

The entirety of MCR wasn’t affected. Why? Because they were meant to save the world, and it just is. It’s like chemistry or French; there’s always exceptions to the rule.

Ok, fine. I may have oversimplified it. MCR weren’t affected because Justin Bieber thought they weren’t true musicians. Why?

Because they took the “Best Emos of the Year” award for 5000 years in a row. That totally means that they were sellouts, right? (And sellouts aren’t REAL musicians.)

Never mind that. At the very least, it worked out very well for our would-be heroes (except Bob, who was still quite fine in his penguin town nevertheless), because they wouldn’t have to sing everything.

Mikey never really liked it, anyway. Why else would he play bass?

Our intrepid heroes were doing a joint concert with MSI when the curse happened. I can’t say where exactly, and I sure can’t say when. But it was some time ago.

So Ray having a casual chat with Jimmy Urine backstage when all of a sudden, he broke out into song. It wasn’t a happy, sing-along song, either. It was a song that broke out a bit like a cough when he was in the middle of telling a story about his and his wife’s adventures. Jimmy shut his mouth in horror but he couldn’t stop singing. Ray’s eyes widened in surprise, and before he could grab him Jimmy fell on the floor in obvious pain.

“Jimmy? Nooooooo!” Ray shouted as Jimmy keeled over singing (or screaming, we couldn’t tell).

“Save yourself, I’ll hold them back!” Jimmy croaked before fainting.

Ray then left him and ran outside to see if there was someone who could help.

He only found Mikey sitting in the hall eating a plain pavlova. Alarm bells went off in his head, because nobody has plain pavlova. Meringues, sure. But pavlova? No way!

“Mikey, you’re meant to have pavlova with cream!” Ray exclaimed, horrified.

Mikey, who had enough manners to not talk with his mouth full of meringue (but not enough to eat the pavlova properly), flipped him off.

“Jimmy suddenly started singing against his will, do you think anyone could help?” Ray asked after a pause.

Mikey had finished his mouthful of pavlova, yet he pointed wordlessly to his left. Ray ran down that way until he encountered Frank and Gerard standing above a fainted Lindsey.

They didn’t notice Ray coming up behind them, despite Ray’s footsteps echoing loudly in the hallway.

“So uh… we kinda look like we beat her up like this,” Gerard whispered.

“Why are we standing here, then?” Frank retorted.

Ray held back a snicker.

“She beat herself up by being possessed by a singing monster, Frank. What do we tell the police?” Gerard whimpered.

“You just don’t tell the police,” Ray said.

Frank and Gerard turned quickly behind them.

“Oh, Ray! It’s just you.” Frank sighed.

“You scared me so much I peed a little.” Gerard admitted, chuckling nervously.

Mikey chose that moment to suddenly appear behind Ray, scaring the latter as he put a pavlova-covered hand on his shoulder. Ray’s afro bobbed as he grimaced.

“That’s my favourite shirt!” he whined.

“You’ve worn it for the last three weeks, Ray. It’s about time you washed it,” Mikey drawled, licking the fingers of his other hand. 

Gerard and Frank gave each other a look.

“The rest of MSI have fainted from suddenly having to sing for every waking moment,” said Mikey, taking his hand off Ray and wiping it on the ends of his hair.

Ray scrunched up his face.

“I have no idea what to do,” Gerard complained.

“I do,” Frank said, “When in doubt, go to the Divine Shoe!”

Everyone else stared at him like he had just grown a second nose.

Mikey sighed. “Frank…”

“I’m serious!” Frank defended, “If you don’t believe me,” he opened a door that appeared behind him, “come with me anyway.”

He disappeared behind the door, followed by the rest of the band (except Bob, who was building a hot spring).

The room was really a janitor’s closet, but at the back wall, there was a plastic pedestal with a Croc on it. Not a pair, just one pink Croc.

Frank grabbed a high heel from nowhere and placed it on his head. He kow-towed in front of the pedestal, chanting “Oh great Croc of the Pink, I am your humble servant. I implore you to help us, oh great one.”

There was a very awkward pause as Mikey, Ray and Gerard stared at Frank on the ground when the shoe suddenly glowed pink and levitated.

Gerard backed away a little. “What the f –”

“Shh!” hissed Frank, “Don’t disturb the one Pink Croc!” He adjusted the high heel on his head.

The Croc hovered, a booming voice coming out of it. “Your call has been answered. Speak, my children.”

Frank’s eyes lit up. “Oh Great Croc, our friends have been possessed by singing monsters. What is the cause and how can we fix it?”

The Croc floated around for a bit. “I see it now; musician-kind has been cursed by Justin Bieber.”

“Not Justin Bieber!” cried Ray.

“It is a deplorable situation indeed, my child. But you have not been affected by the curse; this is thanks to my blessing. Thus, as the only people who are immune, it is your job to save musician-kind and stop Bieber forever.”

Frank looked up at the shoe. “How are we to do that, Great One?”

The shoe paused in its flight. “You are… to find the MacGuffin. And with the MacGuffin, you must trap Justin Bieber and throw him into space!”

“Isn’t murder illegal?” Mikey interjected.

“Not if I have anything to do with it, doubtful one,” the shoe replied smarmily.

“So what does this MacGuffin thing look like, anyway?” Ray asked.

“And how are we supposed to get it?” added Gerard.

“The information will come to you in time. But of course, everything starts from somewhere, and you need to find one Gabe Saporta in his Cobra Starship. Beware, however, for it is in the middle of Bieberville, and Justin Bieber’s followers are rife in their own suburb.”

The shoe then stopped glowing and landed on Gerard’s head.

“It ran out of juice,” Ray said redundantly.

Frank grabbed the shoe off Gerard’s head and put it in his pocket.

“Frank, your jeans must have huge pockets if you can fit a size 9 pink Croc in there,” said Mikey.

Frank just shrugged. “I always have room for the great Croc.”

Gerard was browsing Google Maps on his phone. “Oi, where IS Bieberville, anyway?”

Mikey put his hand on the wall to lean on casually when his hand went through it.

“What the fuck?!” he exclaimed, falling over so that the top half of his body disappeared behind the “wall”.

Gerard’s mouth fell open. “That’s the secret path to Narnia!”

“Narnia was through a closet, Gerard,” Frank drawled, “Plus it probably doesn’t exist, anyway.”

“What you do mean, “probably”? Are you saying it COULD exist, Frank?” Gerard shot back.

“It lives in your mind, so it exists in some way, doesn’t it?” Frank replied, stepping over Mikey, who hadn’t bothered to get up during the conversation.

Frank stuck his head into the tunnel. Sticking his head into the seemingly solid wall to do so was almost surreal.

“Hey, look! This sign says “This way to Bieberville.”,” he said, disappearing completely into the tunnel.

“Hey! That’s my face you’re stepping on,” Mikey protested from under him.

Frank looked down, testing his shoes on a stone tile.

“Sorry. I guess that’s why my foot is so sticky.”

Ray and Gerard had gotten into the tunnel in the meantime, Gerard helping up his brother.

They all looked down into the dark tunnel, which suddenly lit up as torches flared up on the walls.

“This is kinda sussy,” Ray whimpered, backing away.

“But the sign says it’s this way to Bieberville. You heard the Great One, Ray. We must save all of musician-kind!” Frank marched forward, the rest of the band following behind him.

They never heard the door of the janitor’s closet clicking shut.

_(And thus starts the journey of MCR and their quest to save musician-kind from Justin Bieber.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Did you enjoy this? I totally hope you did. Comments are appreciated if you want to see a certain band in here or something, but no guarantees I'm actually going to implement them!


End file.
